Adam Raised A Cain
by tyrnfrd
Summary: The world's most feared assassin makes some time for his only known family member, a bastard son he didn't even know he had. But family time with an assassin isn't as fun as with a normal dad.
1. Prologue

**Chapter 1: Prologue**

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 _Destiny is for those of us who cannot be great on their own merits. Destiny is not a tool that can be wielded in the present, but a way to make sense of the past. A hope for the future. But in the present there is no destiny. There is either power or luck. And luck is a fickle mistress._

Artemis awoke with a shiver. His face flushed red as feeling returned to his body and he noticed the wetness of his legs. Not that he hadn't expected it. Artemis had not managed to sleep through the night without incident since the dreams started three months previously. The discovery of his father had been unexpected. More unexpected had been his kidnapping and torture at the hands of the same man. But he always dreamed of the lectures his father had given him.

Artemis threw the blankets off of himself, pushed himself off the bed, and walked quietly to the window. There was no light outside, so Artemis tripped the latch of the window and slowly, cautiously levered himself out, holding on to the eaves above him with both hands. He lifted himself with utmost care onto the roof of the building, and climbed slowly to the ridge of the roof. Looking down, he could see the flickering of a single torch, illuminating the sign of the inn. Two scimitars were painted in silver on a black background. The owner of _The Drizzt_ had a serious hero-worship problem. How an inn could be named after a living person, Artemis did not understand. And given what he knew about the dark elf, he could assume that Drizzt Do'Urden didn't want or need the recognition.

Artemis began to clamber down from the rooftop, feet moving slowly but surely to find purchase on the slate roof-tiles, hands following the feet at a steady pace. Reaching the eaves once again, Artemis put his weight into his fingertips, and gently rocked his body until his feet made it through the window, and let go, landing with a quiet thud. He crossed the dark room to his pack, and began to change his clothes.

Minutes later, Artemis' legs were wet once again. He wrinkled his sizable nose with distaste, and looked down. His pants were covered in blood. Perhaps straddling his target to prevent him from fighting back hadn't been such a good idea. He hadn't realized how much blood a knife wound to the chest could spill.


	2. Chapter 1: Discovery

**Chapter 1:**

 **Discovery**

 _There are many ways to motivate a person, but the easiest is fear. What sensible person would not do anything to preserve themselves or their possessions? But to convince them of this need, they must fear the alternative. If you can create it, fear will bend even the gods to your will. But there is one being on whom you must never use fear, and that is yourself. The strongest motivations come from within, and fear is an external motivation. Fear cannot save you from the thing you fear, and thus it is redundant. Bend others to your will, and never be bent to theirs._

By the time that the sun finally began to rise from the horizon, Artemis was miles away from _The Drizzt_ , feet burning as if they were bare on the hot sand of the Calim Desert, rather than clad in leather boots in the wet hinterland of the Sword Coast. Artemis sighed to himself, ruing the turn of events that had led him here, to the dismal and dreary north, on the run from the authorities, and murdering innocent travelers in roadside inns. Sometimes a person just didn't want to join the family business. Not that his father had given him much choice.

He hadn't been anything special, really, before the incident. He had always been a little different, but not really special. The bastard child of the disgraced daughter of a noble family, it hadn't been the easiest upbringing, especially since his mother was the last of the line. It was an awkward position for a child to be in, caught between the hatred directed towards a bastard child with an unknown father, and the expectations placed on the illegitimate heir to the family wealth and fortune. His name had been the only thing he'd had of his father, and his mother would tell him nothing more about the man she'd met only once. His grandparents had not been kind, so young Artemis had stayed to himself, spending time only in his room, or with his tutors.

It had all changed twenty-two years after he had been born. The first Artemis had known was when he woke up, in an unknown location. He shuddered as he remembered opening his eyes and the dull gleam of a sword filling his vision, sharp point inches from his nose. Following the straight edge of the sword, along the arm of the man holding it, and tracing the muscular lines of the man's neck with his eyes, he had gasped. It was as if an older version of himself had come back in time to threaten him.

Lost in the memory, Artemis lost his footing on the uneven road, barely more than a dirt track, and fell forward, crying out as he hit the ground. His right arm tingled as he landed heavily on the elbow instead of on the forearm covered by a sturdy leather bracer. He thought about standing, but quickly decided better of it, and simply lay in the road, the light rain slowly soaking through his clothes. He knew he had somewhere to go, but he couldn't remember why. It was so cozy, so warm. Why would he want to go anywhere? What was he thinking? Why would he want to leave his warm tower room, the comfy armchair, the blazing fire, the blankets?

Artemis awoke to the sound of screaming, and warmth spreading from his back, radiating through his body. His back began to tickle, and he tried to shift slightly to get more comfortable, but found himself unable to move. Resigning himself to the inevitable, he tried to clear the tiredness from his mind. The pain hit him like a wave crashing over the bow of a small fishing vessel, breaking it apart and crushing the fishermen. His back was on fire, nerves screaming at him to do something, to get away, that he was in mortal peril. With detachment, Artemis noted that the screaming he was hearing was coming from his own mouth, and that his hands were bound above his head, all of his weight pulling down on his wrists and through his elbows. Finally, he opened his eyes.

In front of him was the man who haunted his nightmares. The man was not tall, but neither was he short. Even standing motionless, as he was now, hands resting on the pommels of his weapons, the man looked ready to strike. Grey eyes seated deep into his face showed no movement, yet this man seemed supremely aware of everything in the area. The face was expressionless, any color hidden by the thick, short stubble. It was like looking in a mirror. Or it would have been if Artemis were older and far, far more dangerous. He tried to cringe away from his father, but his muscles would not respond. There was a sickening wet crunch as the whip, wielded by an unknown torturer, cut into his back again, and Artemis mercifully fell out of consciousness.

It was hours until Artemis once again awoke, and this time he found himself able to move. He stretched cautiously, wincing at the pain from his back. Probing with his fingers, he found that he had been bandaged well. A bitter taste in the back of his throat told him that he had also been force fed a restorative potion to aid with the healing process at some point while he had been drifting in and out of consciousness. Artemis longed to go back to sleep, but he knew that staying asleep would not be helpful. Gingerly, he rolled off the pile of straw on which he had been sleeping, and raised himself to his feet. The room that he was in was dark, but it seemed large and open. He guessed it had probably once been a barn. At the moment it was filled with sleeping bodies. Artemis crossed the room slowly, stepping lightly to avoid waking anyone.

Once out of the room, Artemis could finally see where he was. Torches were hung from stone walls, giving a low level of light to a long corridor. Memory served him well, and soon Artemis was approaching the quarters of his father, padding almost silently on his bare feet. Before he could raise his hand to open the door, a low murmur reached his ears from the other side of the solid oak door. A rasping voice was speaking, seemingly angry, but too quietly for Artemis to understand. The rasping voice stopped, and the clear tones that spoke in his nightmares began. These words Artemis could understand perfectly. "My son should not be alive. But rest assured General, I will break him." Artemis felt his head spinning, and almost didn't notice the footsteps making their way towards him. He spun away from the door and flattened himself against the wall as the hinges creaked. Surely he would be discovered.

Artemis felt the wall behind him dissolve away. Suddenly there were rough hands on his shoulders, and he had to force himself not to cry out as he was pulled backwards. The hands let go as quickly as they had grabbed him, and as he stumbled and fell, Artemis watched his father pull what seemed to be a circle of black fabric from the wall. Artemis couldn't help flinching as his father turned towards him. "Are you insane? What could possibly possess you to attempt to spy on the most powerful warlord on the Sword Coast?" His father didn't raise his voice, but Artemis could feel the power in his tone, and the anger was visible in the way he held his body, muscles more taut than ever. His father continued to speak. "Do you have a death wish? That man would kill you without a second thought, and you decide to provoke him, to put yourself within arms' reach? I'm trying to protect you, and this is how you repay me?"

Artemis couldn't believe what he was hearing. Rage overpowered his fear, and even his desire for self-preservation. His back screamed with pain as he raised himself to his feet, and he drew on the pain to feed his anger as he screamed at his father. "You're trying to protect me? Don't lie to me! I heard what you said! You want me dead, you want to break me! How many times have you already tried to kill me? What's stopping you? Just kill me already!" He began to continue his tirade, but, as he tried to draw breath, his vision blurred and he collapsed. The last thing he felt was his body slowly dropping to the cold stone floor.

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Author's Note: Hi. Thanks for reading. Yeah.


	3. Chapter 2: Resistance

**Chapter 2:**

 **Resistance**

 _Nature has always been stronger than anything man can craft. In the face of the infinitude of existence, man is small, insignificant, puny. Man cannot challenge the greater order forever. Nothing man creates is as powerful or permanent as what is ordained by primeval forces. And so it is with truth. Truth is the strongest illusion. No lie could ever have the same simple power that the truth so easily wields._

It seemed to Artemis that he had probably spent more time unconscious than conscious over the past few weeks. As he tried to avoid fully regaining consciousness he wondered how long he had been out this time. Maybe he hadn't fallen unconscious this time. Given what his father had said, and the words he had said to his father, Artemis wouldn't have been too surprised if the assassin had just killed him. Strangely, Artemis didn't seem too concerned about this. Was that proof? He decided that maybe coming back to full consciousness wouldn't be the world's worst idea. Maybe then he'd know if he was dead or not. Wresting control of his spiraling thoughts, Artemis focused on his senses, trying to perceive everything he could. The itching of rough blankets on his skin, the light sound of breathing, the rise of his chest. These were pretty normal feelings. What was he missing? Oh, sight. He opened his eyes.

The moment Artemis opened his eyes, even as his vision was still swimming, the dark-haired man sitting in a chair at his bedside snapped shut the book he had been reading, the loud crack of the leather-bound pages coming together causing Artemis to flinch involuntarily. Within a moment, a jeweled dagger was at Artemis' throat, pressing so lightly onto the skin that it did not draw blood even when the younger man swallowed nervously. "Listen carefully," said the older man, his voice clear, enunciated, and deep. "I will give you a chance, this single chance, to ask me what you want to know. You will not raise your voice, you will not let your temper get the better of you. If you do not follow these rules, this conversation is over. Do you understand?" With this, he withdrew the dagger slightly, allowing the younger man to nod.

It took some time for Artemis to gather the courage to speak. It didn't help that his father was giving him a look of casual boredom, although at least his legendary dagger had been sheathed. Artemis realized that he was probably one of the only beings to have been that close to his father's dagger and lived. The thought gave him strange courage, and he opened his mouth to ask his first question.

"Why am I here?" Artemis had tried to make his voice sound strong and firm, but days of poor treatment had caused not insignificant dehydration, and his voice cracked as he rasped out the question. His eyes tracked his father as the older man crossed the room, and came back with a full waterskin. Artemis took it gratefully, swallowing a small amount of lukewarm water before his father spoke.

"You are here as insurance," his father answered. "The general is paying me well, but it seems he wanted to take extra precautions to ensure my loyalty. As my only remaining family member, you were required. I'm supposed to torture you to death, to prove my loyalty." At this statement Artemis gasped, and visibly paled. Thoughts raced through his head, each more terrible than the last, as he contemplated the pain involved in being tortured to death. "Of course," his father continued, in a dry tone, "this plan seems somewhat, ah, _sub-optimal_ to me. So I'm going to need to escape. And that requires you to help me."

Artemis' eyes went wide as his father told him this last part, but he still didn't understand what was happening. "If you want to escape with me," he asked, "why are you still torturing me? Why am I unconscious every few hours? Why did you tell the General you would break me, and that you want me dead?" Through sheer force of will Artemis managed to keep his voice steady and his tone controlled, much as he wanted to scream at the smug assassin.

"I'll answer the last question first," the older man said, "and then I don't think I'll have to explain the first. I told the General the truth, but in the way that he wanted to hear it. He knows if you lie to him, you know," the assassin added conversationally. Artemis hadn't known this, but it made sense. He might be called the General, but everyone knew that he was first and foremost a powerful mage. And magic-users just had ways of knowing things.

His father continued. "I told him you shouldn't be alive. That was true. To the General, that meant that you were uncommonly difficult to kill. But to me, it simply referred to the fact that I never intended to have a child. If you shouldn't have been born, you shouldn't be alive."

That made sense to Artemis, but he needed to press further. "But what about when you said you'd break me? That can't really be misinterpreted, can it?"

The older man chuckled, a deep, throaty, and intimidating sound. "No, it can't. But what I didn't say is that I would rebuild you afterwards, in my own image. The perfect blade is forged through violence, as I was. You will be too. I will forge you to perfection, but that can wait until tomorrow." The older man smiled, the action looking strained and unusual, and the unlikely pair moved on to a new topic, for the first time seeming like a father and son.


End file.
